‘And how’s it all going up in the man cave?’ Moira asks as we stroll along the jetty. It’s easier for her than the sand, and the views are amazing – when you reach the end, you feel like you’re walking on water. ‘That isn’t quite a man cave any more?’
Three days have passed since Jane agreed to stay, and they have been complicated days. We’re both conscious of not upsetting each other, of not accidentally saying the wrong thing, of making sure we keep to our own space. The house is big enough for that, and I do most of my work outside anyway.
She spends a lot of time at the bookshop, and when our paths cross there, we talk about the murals, or her project, or books. She keeps it polite, surface level, safe. Firmly non-personal. I know why she’s doing it – but I also hate it. Frankly it’s been torture seeing her every day and keeping this distance from her, but maybe she’s right, maybe it’s the only way to deal with it. We’re both still confused, both still recalibrating, and I have no clue how I feel about it all from one minute to another. One second I want her to pack up and leave so I can go back to my nice peaceful solitary life, the next I want to crush her into my arms and kiss her until her knees go weak.
‘It’s grand,’ I say to Moira, hoping she leaves it at that. She leans against the railing at the end of the jetty, and gazes off at the seal colony on one of the islands. She’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder what she’s thinking about. She’s not quite herself and hasn’t been for a while. The signs are subtle but there, and I don’t think I’m imagining them.
‘Aye? Grand is it?’ she says, turning back to face me. ‘Then why do you two tippy-toe around each other like you do? I’ve never seen you so polite with anybody, Rory Callaghan!’
Naturally enough, being Moira, she’s figured out that something is amiss – and it must be driving her mad not knowing. Maybe, once Jane’s left and all of this is a distant memory, I’ll tell her. We’ll sit by the fireplace in the bookshop and crack open the whisky, and I’ll tell her the whole sad story. Not now, though – Jane and I have both agreed that nobody needs to know. It would make everything even more complicated, and involve more people in what is a very private matter.
I shrug, and aim for nonchalant. ‘You’re imagining it, you daft old biddy. And anyhow, when was it a crime to be polite?’
‘When it makes me think there’s a problem – when it makes me worry that Jane is going to leave Bonnie Bay before her time. I don’t want her to leave, Rory.’
I nod, seeing a flash of real distress and hating it. ‘I know. The cards. Angus. Plus she’s helping you with the grant you need, and with the portrait project. Grand idea, by the way – it would be wonderful to get some of the outliers more involved in the village.’
Moira bites her lip. ‘It would. And she is. She’s making a difference to this place, and I’ve felt so much better about it all since she got here – like fate sent her for me, too, to help me get everything done in time. Are you sure everything is all right?’
‘One hundred per cent. Now, come on, let’s be having you – you know Joanne is waiting for a lift home.’
She grins wickedly. ‘Is she now? That must have slipped my mind.’
It has not slipped her mind at all, she’s just messing with her sister as usual. We make the walk back along to the village, and when we reach the end of the jetty Moira pauses, takes hold of my arm. She looks up at me, her eyes intense, and says: ‘I don’t just want Jane to stay because she’s helping me, you know that don’t you? And also, I hope you know that I love you dearly. I’m not sure I’ve ever said that out loud, but I do, Rory. I love you.’
I wrap her up in my arms, and kiss her curly silver hair. My mammy loved me, I know, but she didn’t say it out loud that often – mainly when she’d had a few tipples. ‘The feeling’s entirely mutual, Moira.’
She nods into my chest, then pulls away, setting her face back to something more mischievous as we see Joanne outside the bookshop, glowering at us. Brody’s busy doing some work at the gallery, and I go over to stand with him. It’s best not to get in between these two when they start.
‘What time do you call this, woman?’ Joanne snaps. She’s taller than Moira, whip thin, with the kind of face that could sink whole fleets, never mind ships. ‘I’ve been waiting here for a half hour!’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, your ladyship – doesn’t the good book preach patience?’ Moira replies.
‘Aye, well, Jesus never met you, Moira McLeod – even He would be sore tempted to smother you in your sleep!’
‘Well, at least if you were up, it’d stop you snoring like an asthmatic St Bernard!’
Brody shakes his head. ‘The joys of sisterhood, right?’ I say.
‘Right. Keeps ’em going though, doesn’t it?’
I laugh, because he is bang on. They bicker all the way home, and as they get out of the car I say: ‘You two should do stand-up.’
‘Aye,’ Joanne responds, scowling. ‘Except we’re old ladies. We’d have to call it sit-down.’
‘Maybe even lie-down,’ Moira adds. ‘Thanks for the lift, Rory!’
I drive off with a wave and a toot of the horn, feeling the now-familiar mix of excitement and dread in my belly as I deliberately drive the long way home. It’s a beautiful journey through the swoops and sways of the countryside, the sea glimmering below. I pull up outside the house and sit for a moment, staring at my hands. Covered in paint, one nail black from a mishap with a washing machine drum. I was known to have the occasional manicure during my barrister days, and was always turned out in a designer suit – today’s ensemble is my usual uniform of old Levi’s and a T-shirt. I prefer this version, with all its mess.
That, though, is the mess on the outside. The mess on the inside is trickier. I stare at the house, knowing that two women are inside it, with their own mess, and their noise and chatter and clutter. Beth never met a door she didn’t like to leave open, my bathroom is unrecognisable and smells of flowers, and don’t get me started on the way they leave the toilet seat down. It’s disruptive, having them here – but it is also glorious.
Beth is a great girl, and Jane? Well. That’s a whole different story. Being around her is like being on drugs, with all the highs and lows. I’m fighting hard to not show any of that, to not make her feel uncomfortable, but it isn’t easy.
My phone beeps, and I see a message from Catrina. It tells me she’s heading back to Scotland in a few weeks’ time, that she’s not sure exactly when, but if she’s in the area, would it be okay to meet. Normally, I’d be buzzing at the prospect – now?Now I realise that every other woman I’ve ever known has been a pale imitation of the one waiting for me inside the house.
I shake my head. I need to get a grip. The memory of Jane has haunted me my whole life, and it’s time to move on. To let go of all that past pain, and look to the future. The future does not include her, but that doesn’t mean I have to be alone. By the time Catrina finds time to visit, Jane will be gone back to her real life – and I will be left with mine.
Great, I type back.Look forward to it – call in any time.I add some kisses, because that’s what I should do.
